Alice: Madness Forever
by Nagiana
Summary: I hate summaries. Seriously I do. But anyway, I'll give it a whirl. Herein details the life of Alice after the death of Bumby and the subsequent new ownership of the Houndsditch Home for Wayward Youth. The new owner, a certain psychiatrist by the name of Quinn Reeves, might be the light she's looking for through the darkness, but only if she can truly escape her past . . .
1. Chapter 1

**I know I should probably write an introduction to this story, but I've wrote so many over the years that I'm afraid I'm out of original ones! Terribly sorry, friends, but that's just the truth :)  
**

**Anyway, this is an American McGee's Alice in Wonderland Fanfiction story. If you don't like pain, gore, sex, swearing, being uncomfortable or overall hate it when people come up with original ideas to go with things like this (i.e Fanfiction), then please leave now and please, close the door behind you! Of course, then again, if you don't like that stuff, then why the Hell did you play the videogames? Those are some of McGee's favorite topics, friends!**

**Now, I don't know why I proceed to put this in here, speaking people don't freaking listen anyway, but PLEASE, for the love of GOD, DO NOT send me flames or any bad reviews whatsoever! If you DO ignore my very nice request not to, then chances are, your gonna get a really angry PM from me lambasting you on the definition of what should be sent as a PM and what should be a review! **

**ANYWAY! I promise I'm a lot less of a meanie than I just appeared, so please, enjoy this story (I love the concept if I do say so myself) and please, if it strikes your fancy, review - I love those, especially the good, detailed ones! Now, onwards to the disclaimer (which is only gonna come once :)). And if you have any questions about the story line what's gonna happen next or anything else - seriously? wanna talk about the weather, want advice on what to eat for dinner - then just PM me. I'll get back to you as quickly as I can :)**

**Disclaimer: I do not own American McGee's Alice. That amazing work of art belongs to McGee, Spicy Horse and (controversially) EA Games. The only people I own are Quinn, Johanna, Lucy, Inspector Gregory - basically anyone who was not in the game.**

**PS - OH! I also do not own Dr. Wilson's Casebook contained in this chapter and a few more located on down the line. I borrowed it from somewhere on the internet (I think it was the wiki) so PLEASE, just pop that up there in the disclaimer whenever you read it :)**

**- Nagiana**

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It was raining as ever, the day that Tarquinn Reeves appeared on the stoop of The Houndsditch Home for Wayward Youth, the former practice and domicile of the hypnotherapist, Angus Bumby. The young psychiatrist turned his eyes skyward to gaze up at the tall, slightly imposing, slightly crumbling brick façade of the tall building, where he heaved a sigh. He honestly didn't know what to expect. It was a bleak building, situated in one of the poorer, more dangerous sections of London and which used to be run by a psychopath who abused his patients and eventually turned them into prostitutes once he sufficiently wiped their memory to his satisfaction. Hopefully, Quinn could change all that.

He gently grasped one of the wrought iron spikes of the gate in front of him and took a step forward but stopped – frozen to the spot. This building held memories . . . memories of a madman, of many tortured children. He would have a lot to do and a lot of past memories to rewrite. It was intimidating and he hoped that he would be able to do it. He had quite a job ahead of him.

His eyes fell onto the heavy mahogany front door as it opened, revealing a portly man with a walrus mustache and wearing a dark green overcoat and black bowler hat. He had a red face as well and gestured to the much thinner man standing on the other side of the gate. "Are you Doctor Tarquinn Reeves?" He asked, and Quinn nodded.

"Yes, although I much prefer Quinn. You must be Inspector Gregory," He spoke, and the man nodded, his eyes racking up and down the younger man's slight frame, his eyes running down from his thick ebony hair, to his big brown eyes and olive-colored skin, to the leanly muscular frame supported by long legs and big feet. The shape and size of his eyes made him look younger and more feminine than he actually was but he was no ugly man by any means. He possessed good looks that bordered on pretty and slightly handsome. He wore no hat or carried no umbrella to protect himself from the rain and other elements, and no coat to shield him from the wind.

"Yes, yes, I am Inspector Gregory – now come on, lad, before you catch your death standing there!" He spoke rather impatiently as he hurriedly gestured him inside. Quinn didn't have to be told twice. He opened the squeaky gate and moved towards the steps to the inside of the Home, allowing the gate to swing shut behind him. The walk to the steps was cobblestoned, but some of the stones were missing or crumbling, allowing weeds and dried, dying grass to poke up between them. The steps were no better – all-together solid but still missing chunks of concrete in some places. He was sure it was better taken care of when Doctor Bumby was still alive, but since he had died it had fallen ever-so-slightly into disrepair.

Inspector Gregory stood aside, allowing Quinn to move past him into the house, shaking the cold from his frame as he did so. The Inspector closed the door behind them, shivering as he did so as well. "It's been harsh this winter! Some of the old timers say they haven't seen a harsher winter in decades!" He spoke, and Quinn nodded slightly as he gazed around the space surrounding him. It was a large space, obviously the common room or the entrance hall. The floors were dusty but well-taken care of, as well as the emerald green wallpapered walls. A roaring, warm fire flickered welcomingly in the stone fireplace across the way and when he turned his eyes above the fireplace, he saw an outline above it, in the obvious shape of a large picture frame that had been removed after years of hanging there. Children's toys lay strewn all over the ground and when he turned around to face the Inspector, he saw an expensive but dusty dining table strewn with every kind of art supplies you could think of, from crayons and coloring books, to paint and canvases.

The Inspector nodded, more genially this time since they were no longer out of the biting cold and rain. "I should probably introduce myself better. I am Inspector James Gregory, Scotland Yard. I was assigned to this case. You must be Doctor Tarquinn Reeves, the Psychiatrist that is here to take over Doctor Bumby's practice?" He spoke as he held out his hand, and Quinn grasped it and shook it, his eyes still running over the room and the rather dowdy décor contained within. The Inspector found himself surprised by the smaller man's impressively strong handshake.

"Uh yes, but as I've stated previously, I much prefer 'Quinn' to my full name," He spoke before he cracked a half-smile and laughed a little. "From what my colleague told me about the state of this home, I thought this place would be much more run-down! It seems quite . . . _homely_, though . . ." The Inspector nodded as he moved over to the fireplace, where he stood in front of it, warming his backside with the flames.

"You have Miss Alice to thank for that!" He spoke and Quinn furrowed his eyebrows in slight confusion.

"Miss . . . Alice?" He asked, and the Inspector nodded.

"Yes, she is quite the little housekeeper! She is young and quiet, but able enough and kind too towards the children. They trust her and dare I say, love her."

"Is she the housekeeper? Frederick didn't tell me Bumby had a housekeeper!" He asked, and the Inspector laughed.

"No, no, nothing nearly as simple as that! She was one of Doctor Bumby's older patients. Once he died and you took up the place, she jumped to take control of the reins while you made your way here. I'm pretty sure this place _would _be run down if it wasn't for the lass!" Quinn nodded.

"She . . . wouldn't happen to be the infamous Alice Liddell, would she?" He asked, unable to hide his interest, and the Inspector nodded, gazing at him curiously as he did so.

"Aye, yes she is. How did you know?" Quinn shrugged his shoulders.

"In the letter my colleague wrote me, he mentioned an Alice Liddell that had been under Doctor Bumby's care. He mentioned that she had been at multiple asylums for various reasons over the past ten years, and that she had been Doctor Bumby's favorite patient. I didn't think she would be fit enough to care for a house, much less ten to fifteen children!" He spoke, and the Inspector shrugged again.

"I must admit, the lass does look fragile to the eye but I suspect she is stronger than she looks – she'd have to be after what she went through! She was one of the few who stayed strong when the Doctor died and his true intentions came into the light. He was a mad doctor, alright, but I doubt a few really knew it," The Inspector shook his head and shuddered. "He was a true psychopath, that Doctor Bumby!" Quinn furrowed his eyes even more in confusion.

"What makes you say that?"

"His _obsession _with Alice stemmed from a lot more than just an interest in her case, Doctor Reeves! He had been obsessed with her sister, Elizabeth – or Lizzie, as she was more commonly known – and was the true culprit that had caused the fire that killed her family. He was obsessed with blocking the memories in her mind with hypnotherapy so his secret would never come out! Poor Alice . . ." He shook his head sadly. "I'm surprised the lass is taking this as well as she has been!" Quinn shook his head.

"I've heard rumors in Paris of course – everyone has! Her case is remarkable and every psychiatrist of merit has been interested in it! I didn't know any details, though, speaking only the barest of bones managed to take itself across the channel into France and Germany. Actually, it was my mentor, Wilhelm Wundt, from the University of Leipzig, who originally informed me of her case." The Inspector nodded.

"Well, I suspect that you will meet the good Alice soon. She is currently out at the Apothecary gathering the children's medicine and other various groceries. She should be back soon. Until then, however, how about I show you to your new office?" Quinn nodded.

"Of course, lead the way!" He spoke and the Inspector made to move but stopped, turning a confusion look onto him.

"You didn't have any luggage you brought with you, did you?" He asked, and Quinn nodded.

"Uh yes I did, but my friend and colleague are sending them over in spurts. My wife and child will be here shortly as well." He spoke and the Inspector nodded as he turned and led the way to a flight of creaking stairs.

"Well this place needs a woman's touch, if you ask me! Alice has done all she could with the supplies available but now that there will be money being brought into this place, it should look better in no time!" He spoke, and Quinn nodded.

"Yes, Johanna is quite excited about it. She's the regular little home decorator, if I do say so myself!" He chuckled and the Inspector glanced back at him as they turned and continued up another flight of stairs to the third floor.

"You mentioned a child as well?" He spoke and Quinn nodded.

"Yes, our daughter, Lucy. She is to turn two in three months." He spoke and the Inspector nodded again as they reached the third floor. It was much draftier up here and Quinn shuddered reflexively. The Inspector smiled weakly as they continued their journey down the hall.

"You should probably invest in a good coat, Doctor Reeves – for you _and_ your wife and daughter! London winters are different than Paris's and even Germany's! It's much colder here. It is much colder and much, much wetter!" He spoke, and Quinn nodded in thanks.

"Thank you Inspector. From what I've experienced so far, I daresay I might take you up on that suggestion. Pray tell, what did Doctor Bumby do for warmth on this floor?" He asked a he furrowed his eyebrows in confusion, and the Inspector glanced at him.

"Well, since the children's rooms are predominantly down on the first and second floors, you will be the only one who will reside on this floor. Your apartments are connected to your office by a short hallway and two grand fireplaces are located in every room of the apartments and your office. The hallway will be, of course, as cold as it is now, but your office and apartments should be quite cozy once proper fires are started." Quinn nodded as they reached a door. It had a gold plaque stamped to the front inscribed with 'The Office of Doctor Angus Bumby M.D Psy.D'.

"I'll have to get that changed . . ." Quinn muttered, more to himself than to the Inspector, but Inspector Gregory smiled and chuckled nonetheless as he fished around in his pockets for the keys to the office.

"Yes, I suspect that you will!" He replied as he finally found the keys and unlocked the door. He opened it with a flourish and walked inside, Quinn following him close on his heels. It was a spacious enough office, warm from the already crackling fireplace on one side of the room that was surrounded by a couch and a wing-tipped chair, both decked out with emerald green velvet upholstery. A thick, plush rug lay underneath the chair and sofa near the fireplace as well as underneath the desk on the other side the room, was the same color as the walls and upholstery of the chair and sofa. Apparently, Doctor Bumby had a fondness for the color green, but Quinn didn't mind. He didn't mind the color, and he had to admit, it did add a certain professional quality to the whole room. The desk was of heavy dark cherrywood with a lamp in one corner while the rest of the space was stacked with case files and other papers that he could tell had not been moved since the day Angus Bumby had died. And finally, behind the desk, was a whole wall of bookshelves, stocked tightly with all manner of books, from medical to the classics.

"It's certainly not what I expected . . ." Quinn confessed, and the Inspector nodded.

"I know what you mean. I expected it to be more cluttered, with the ravings of a madman scribbled all over the walls in blood and feces. You know, like that mad writer they locked up in the Bastille in Paris so long ago . . ."

"The Marquis de Sade, yes . . . I know well who you are referring to. I did a case study on him for when I still back in the University under the tutelage of Wundt. It had to do when he resided in both the Bastille and Charenton Asylum towards the end of his life. Fascinating man – nymphomania, sadomasochism . . . he was extremely intelligent but definitely a product of his environment whilst growing up . . ." He trailed off and stayed in thought for a moment as he continued to observe his surroundings. "But no, I didn't quite envision Doctor Bumby's office to be like his, Inspector. I envisioned the clutter, maybe, but not mad ravings in blood and feces on the walls." He smiled and turned around to face the Inspector. "Nothing was removed?" He asked, and the Inspector shook his head.

"Nothing was removed that I know of, Doctor. The door was locked when investigators and Detectives arrived to search the place and no one thought it prudent to search his office when they found the door locked. When I was assigned the place, I only did light rifling, nothing more – as per your colleague, Doctor Frederick Fitzgerald's instructions. No one has a key except me and I doubt the young Alice has been in here too. Actually . . . it explains the dust . . ." He spoke as he wiped a finger across a nearby surface, sweeping inches of dust off the surface as he did so. Quinn nodded as the Inspector handed him the key. "So, you have everything you need, Doctor?" He asked, and Quinn nodded as he closed a fist around the key and replaced his hands back in his pockets.

"Yes, I think I do, Inspector. Thank you kindly for meeting me here and showing me to my office." He spoke, and the Inspector nodded in return.

"Don't you mention it Doctor! You have any problems, call me at Scotland Yard. I'll be here in a jiff!" Quinn smiled thankfully as they turned and Quinn escorted him to the door. "Although I doubt you will. You will have Miss Alice here to help with the children and to how you to ropes. Doctor Bumby's files all seem to be in working order, as well . . . you might want to go through them just in case, though . . ." He trailed off, and Quinn smiled and nodded as they shook hands.

"Thank you again, Inspector. I will be sure to call you if any problems arise!" He promised, and the Inspector and Quinn exchanged a few scant goodbyes before he left, closing the door behind him and leaving Quinn standing there feeling quite helpless in an office that had just recently become his.

Another closed door led off to what he presumed was the apartments that the Inspector had referred to, but he allowed that door to stay closed for now. He would probably do nothing to those rooms until Johanna and Lucy arrived in a couple of days, where he would then discuss what to do with them with his wife. He would most probably choose to sleep on the couch in his office for the next few nights while he waited. He didn't fancy sleeping in the same bed linens that, that psychopath Bumby had slept in and he doubted his wife would feel any differently. Actually, he didn't relish living in the same _apartments_ as that man! Not after what he had heard he had done to Alice and her family!

After sighing and rubbing his hands together, trying in vain to rub some warmth back into the flesh, he moved over to stand behind his desk, where his eyes ran briefly over the case files and papers scattered and piled atop the surface. He sighed and shook his head in amazement. All this would have to be filed . . . they would have to be dictated, read and then decided upon . . . he didn't have time for this! He had an orphanage and practice to run, not-to-mention a family and other children to care for! How the Hell did the Doctor do all this and still keep his sanity?

Well . . . it probably wasn't the best analogy, but he got the picture.

"My God, why didn't Frederick warn me of this?" He asked himself bitterly under his breath as he pulled out the chair and took his seat. After rolling up his sleeves, he grabbed a case file – the first one on top of the nearby pile, in fact – only to find that it was Alice Liddell's. It was thicker than most and heavier than just a file full of papers. With eyebrows furrowing gently in confusion, he opened the file, only to have a bruised and battered casebook fall into his lap.

He let out an 'oof' as it collided with his lap and upon plopping the rest of the file down onto the desk, picked up the casebook. It was thin, but clearly had been a fellow doctor's casebook – a Doctor Wilson's to be exact. After glancing down at her file and finding that Doctor Hieronymus Q. Wilson had been Alice's doctor while she had been a patient at Rutledge Asylum, Quinn momentarily blanched at that. Rutledge? Alice had been at Rutledge? Dear God, had he known the poor girl had been at Rutledge, then he would have understood her plight a lot better! No wonder she had taken so long to recover her sanity! Rutledge was a laughingstock in both the rest of Europe and America for its primitive, barbarous methods of dealing with the insane and its perverted orderlies and cruel nurses. The doctors didn't make up for much of that as well. Doctor Wilson was one of the few at the asylum who were looked upon with esteem within the rest of the psychiatric community but not by much, especially when it got around that he had accepted a job at _Rutledge._

His heart immediately went out to the poor girl. Condemned to one of the worst asylums in all of Great Britain after witnessing the fiery death of her entire family and then targeted by an insane psychiatrist that she _thought_ she could trust . . . he doubted she would even be receptive to any of his methods after all that. He hoped she would give him a chance to prove he was nothing like Wilson and Bumby, but even he had his doubts. He seriously had his doubts when it came to Alice.

The casebook had been written between 1864 and 1874, spanning a good ten years which continued to put a sour taste in his mouth. _Ten years . . . _He thought, shaking his head. _She spent _ten years_ in that hellhole! What woman could possibly have come out of that situation sane?_

Unable to rein in his curiosity, he flipped open the casebook to the first page. Written in a thin, spidery scrawl that screamed of Doctor Wilson's doctorate, he began to read,

_1864_

_4, November, 1864_

_I recently received confirmation from the Superintendent that I will be given the opportunity to treat a very troubled and difficult patient. Dubious honor! Her name is Alice, and her prognosis is not promising. After looking at her file, I'm astonished she has survived this long. She has been nearly comatose for a year._

_"Would I have admitted her had I known then what I know now?" -3/10/73_

Quinn paused in his readings for a moment, his dark brows furrowing in slight confusion. The last line was written in red ink instead of the usual black, almost as an afterthought to the entries the words accompanied. They were also titled at a different date than the above passage.

Eyebrows continuing to furrow in confusion, he slowly proceeded to flip through the rest of the casebook. There were more of them too! Did Wilson come back in and add notes to the casebook? If so, then why?

He flipped back to the page he had been on, and continued reading,

_11, November, 1864_

_Mute on a stretcher, with her head curiously bandaged, Alice seems to cling precariously to life. Her burns have healed remarkably in the year since the fire, but she languishes in a deep trance-like dementia. It's as if the blaze consumed her senses wholesale. Deaf, dumb and blind to all stimulation, she's a fair match for the infirmary's gloom._

_In a frenzied instant, a cankered feline pounced on Alice while she was about to be carried inside. Startled by the cat's yowl, the bearers lost their grip and dropped the wretched girl to the ground. Most curious to behold, the cat stood atop Alice as if claiming territorial right, or as if defending a rodent captured in the day's hunt from other hungry predators. Only when an orderly threatened it with a stick did the creature scamper into a nearby hedge. Even then the cat crouched beneath the shrubbery. With eyes agape, it fixed on Alice as if it had some vital interest in our proceedings._

_"It pays to heed the feline — something I've learned over the years." -21/10/73_

_13, November, 1864_

_In the twelve months since the conflagration, Alice has dropped further into a grim and darkly quiet abyss. It's a wonder the Superintendent didn't bury her deep within the Bedlam catacombs. The surgeons were able to cure the flesh, but they've done nothing to treat the inflammation of her brain. It's not sure what he expects me to accomplish with her. I suppose he thinks that in my twenty-three years within these troubled walls I've mastered a curriculum not taught in Oxford classrooms._

_14, November, 1864_

_Her one possession is a toy__ — a sooty, stuffed rabbit whose single button-eye dangles from a loose thread. Plaything from her time of innocence, and her only link to life before the fire, the rabbit is now sentinel to Alice's deepening dementia._

_"The rabbit may prove a valuable instrument for shock therapy. I should have noticed it sooner." -21/10/73_

_8, December, 1864_

_When I hold a flame to her eye, nothing in her vacuous gaze betrays the faintest glimmer of response. I clap a pair of blocks at her ear. There is nothing. Neither her sight nor her hearing appear to be damaged, still she registers nothing at all. The rumor (passed on by Reverend Mottle amongst others) alleges that she feels nothing — not pain, or fear or other torments — is neither credible nor kind. Still, she is far, far gone, this one._

_9, December, 1864_

_In many ways it's as if she's in the grave already; her countenance so still she appears to be in training for the coffin. Indeed, if she were to die today in this old hospital, nary a person would take note other than those few who recall her name from the papers. There are those few who'd mutter to themselves "Ah, that's a shame - the poor girl," and then turn the page to learn more of the recent stabbings in Notting Hill._

_"So quiet she appeared. Was the deep madness already coursing through her mind?" -23/10/73_

Deep madness . . .? Quinn became even more confused as he continued to read through the yellowing pages of the casebook. From what the Inspector had told him earlier, Alice seemed like quite the capable, responsible young woman, albeit with a few mental issues that were completely understandable. What possibly could Doctor Wilson be referring to with his words 'Was the deep madness already coursing through her mind?'

It troubled him. The whole casebook troubled him – Hell, he hadn't even met the girl yet, and even the mere _idea_ of her troubled him! Thank God there were only two entries left before Doctor Wilson begun his next year . . .

_10, December, 1864_

_Though she appears weak, she must have a strong constitution to have survived until now. Her fever persists, her breathing heaves violently at times and, even after more than a year of healing, burns so massive commonly cause her great discomfort. You'd never imagine she's in any distress, though, the way lies there, as lifeless as a British Museum mummy. I daresay, however, that I'll stir her from her dreamery, even if the response is involuntary. I'll begin tomorrow with a steady treatment of cold plasters and bloodletting. The bleeding might cause some relief to her dementia. I also have a new shock apparatus that I'd like to try on her. I'm curious to see how she reacts to this treatment. _

_14, December, 1864_

_The physicians who treated her burns reported that she barely noticed when they unwrapped and dressed her wounds. Indeed, she rarely showed any agitation at all when they examined her over the months. They also report, however, that on some nights, she howled like a banshee. When the nurses responded to the screams, Alice would hush, as if magically released from her demons._

_Eventually, they stopped responding to these outbursts. And, after a short while, she stopped uttering any noise whatsoever._

Quinn felt a horror so profound descend upon him from reading the last two passages that he jumped up and away from the casebook, toppling the chair he had been sitting in as he went. Cold plasters and bloodletting; a new shock apparatus – all to _just _get her to respond to them?! This Wilson wasn't a doctor – he was as mad as Bumby had been! And her burns . . . they did all that while she still retained her burns?!

Quinn shook his head sadly as he shakily righted his toppled chair. He closed the casebook that lay still opened on his desk, his hand still shaking as he did so. The more he read the damned casebook, the more sorrow he felt for this young woman. She had been through so much in her life – no wonder she didn't trust doctors! He just hoped he could change her mind and see that they weren't all bad. And not-to-mention, they would soon have Johanna to help around the home and Lucy would surely find playmates within the other children . . . within reason of course.

Quinn sat back down and shook his head wearily as he gently shoved the casebook aside. That was enough 'light' reading on that subject for that night. And besides . . . he really should focus on the rest of the mountain of files sitting beside him . . .


	2. Chapter 2

Quinn was jolted awake that next morning to a light knocking on his door. There was another open case file set before him – a certain Benny Payne who had witnessed his father in the middle of decapitating his mother during a drunken fit of rage, and he had apparently fallen asleep on it. He didn't know when he had fallen asleep too – didn't really remember becoming tired, actually, but he didn't allow it to get to him. His trip from Paris to the current home he now resided in had been a long one and he found himself exhausted. Hell, he was _still_ exhausted, but he knew he had no time to rest. He wanted to meet with the children and gather all his ducks in a row before Johanna and Lucy arrived. He also wanted very dearly to meet Alice.

"Y-yes, come in - the door's open!" He called after shuffling a huge yawn and the door creaked open, only to allow a slight young girl to enter. Her lank blonde hair fell in dirty pigtails down her shoulders and her sunken blue eyes regarded him warily.

"You . . . are you the new docta?" She asked him and he nodded as he stood from his desk and unrolled his shirtsleeves.

"Yes, I am the new doctor," He spoke before quickly realizing that he sounded unnecessarily short when he replied to her. His eyes softened as he regarded her and when he spoke, his voice was a lot gentler. "I'm sorry - my name is Doctor Reeves, what's yours?"

The young girl relaxed slightly at his new tone. "My name's Elizabeth – Bess to ma' friends," She swallowed heavily and stepped deeper into his office. She had a thick Cockney accent, one that Quinn had to strain his ears in order to understand. Quite clearly she was nervous and he didn't blame her. The last doctor they had, had been a raging psychopath. He didn't blame her in the least for being immediately cautious of him.

"Hello Elizabeth, are you one of my new patients?" He asked, immediately knowing to use 'Elizabeth' instead of 'Bess'. She noticed and nodded, her demeanor calming even more.

"Yes. I'm one of the longest that's been here. Well . . . other than Alice, of course . . ." She trailed off, laughing a little, and he regarded her with interested eyes.

"Alice? Is Alice here now?" He asked, unable to fully veil his excitement. She nodded.

"Aye – she's in the kitchens gettin' breakfast ready for the youngin's. She sent me up here to inquire on whether or not you wanted anything in par'ticla," Quinn shook his head. He was hungry, but he was much hungrier for something else – meeting Alice and seeing for himself if she was as insane as Doctor Wilson made her out to be in the casebook.

"Um, tell her no thank you but after she is done, can you tell her to come up and see me? I wish to meet her and thank her for . . . for taking care of you and the other children while I was on my journey here. I don't know what I would have done if she hadn't!" He asked, and the young girl nodded and curtsied before scampering from the office, leaving the door open as she did so. A cold breeze immediately wafted in and Quinn reflexively shuddered again as he crossed his arms in front of his chest. He hugged himself, trying desperately to ward off the chill as he moved around his desk to the opened door. He grasped it in his hand and moved to close it, but something kept him from doing so. A snow white cat sat at the other end of the hallway, grooming itself, its white tail flicking lazily through the air and its startling green eyes downcast to the wood floor. He froze, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

A white cat . . . he didn't remember seeing a white cat scampering through any of the rooms as the Inspector showed him the place the previous afternoon. What was it doing here, and more importantly, what was it doing on _his _floor? Did Elizabeth accidentally leave the door to his floor open when she entered?

As if sensing his confused feelings, the emaciated feline stopped grooming itself and got to its feet. It was a lanky cat but beautifully proportioned, with the silkiest white fur he had ever seen on such a creature, but with the most peculiar green eyes. It gazed at him for a moment with its cat-like green eyes before it let out a 'meow' and ran down the hall and out of sight. Quinn stood there for a moment, comprehending what the Hell he had just seen before he got the frightening urge to shut the door – and quickly! It was like he knew something bad would happen if he didn't and he immediately did so, feeling a cold sweat break out on his skin, despite the warmth of the room. Who was that cat and _why _did it leave feelings of fear behind?

There were so many questions about this place – a lot more than Quinn ever could have anticipated, but he knew it was futile to worry about them at that stage. He ended up shaking the thoughts and feelings from his head as he turned around, where he headed back to his desk. He had a mountain of case files to still go through and many children to acquaint himself with. He didn't have the time to dwell on a mysterious white cat that was accompanied with fearful emotions!

He dove into his work and must have been working longer than he thought, for a few hours later, there was another knock at his door. It wasn't one of the children being curious or nosy, for this knocking was much more confident. His heart jumped from his chest into his throat at the prospect of it being Alice and he immediately brought his attention up from the case file opened before him (Bess's case file, in fact) to the person on the other side of the door.

"Come in!" He called before quickly adding in his mind, _and whatever you do, don't let that cat in!_

The young woman that promptly entered Quinn's office that cold and wintery afternoon day was a mixture between an arrogantly confident young woman and a patient teetering on the brink of insanity. She entered the office slowly, as if she was a skittish mare ready to bolt, and when their eyes connected across the room, Quinn did nothing more but turn the corners of his mouth upwards in a friendly smile. This smile seemed to throw her off guard for a moment, and she froze in place, her eyes growing slightly wider than they had been when she first entered the dark wood paneled and emerald green room.

"Hello, you must be Alice!" He spoke, a tad excitingly as he moved out from behind his desk and moved over to her in three long strides, his hand held out to her. She jumped at the sudden movement and Quinn suddenly scaled back the excitement, feeling a tad guilty. He should have known not to have let his emotions get the better of him. He was excited at finally getting to meet her and for a moment, he couldn't rein himself in. He coughed, clearing his throat as his normal seriousness and solemnity returned to him in seconds. "I-I'm Tarquinn Reeves, your new psychiatrist. My friends and family call me Quinn, though . . ." He spoke, not knowing why he had added the last part. Yes, his family called him Quinn, but only his close friends ever had the privilege to use his nickname, and his patients especially did not, evident by the fact that he had told Elizabeth to call him 'Doctor Reeves'. He liked to keep a professional manner with his patients and if at all possible, with the child patients especially – it had been a critical lesson that Doctor Wundt had taught him. Why he told her, of all people, to call him Quinn, temporarily surprised and floored him. "I . . . I thank you for taking care of the children and the place while I was on my way here. You did a very good job – I commend you, especially speaking you were on your own the entire time!" He spoke, and Alice nodded in thanks, although he could still see hesitation flickering in the depths of her eyes.

Of course, he shouldn't be surprised he was so excited. Alice Liddell was a fascinating case - a true gem in the rest of the muck that was the world of psychiatrics, that any psychiatrist of any notable merit would be itching to get his hands on her. She had been moved from asylum to asylum until she came under the care of Doctor Angus Bumby a few years earlier, seemingly deemed 'cured'. It eventually came to light that Bumby was nothing more but the stalker and rapist of Alice's older sister, Lizzie, the arsonist that burned up her home and her family in it, and well . . . an overall child pimp! He had used his practice and his skills with hypnotherapy to erase the memories of his patients, in which case they would be sent to become prostitutes at the local brothel! Quinn was shocked when he read the entire case file and numerous papers and learned that Alice had progressed leaps and bounds since her incarceration at Rutledge under Doctor Wilson's care and even more-so since the death of Bumby. It was almost like she didn't even need to be here.

Alice nodded in understanding, although the eyes she gazed at him with were now wary as he coughed again and gestured to the nearby couch by the dying but still warm fire. "Please, have a seat!"

Alice did as she was told and Quinn moved around to stand behind his desk, where he flipped through her file again, purposefully ignoring the casebook sitting beside it. "I must say Alice, that I was quite ecstatic when I learned that you would be one of the patients I would acquire when I took over Doctor Bumby's practice," He spoke, his tone light and cheerful. "You are a very special case, if I must say so myself! Not many people have recovered as quickly and as smoothly as you have after such a traumatic past."

"I wouldn't exactly call my recovery 'smooth', Doctor." She spoke in a quiet, slightly sarcastic voice, and Quinn chuckled as he moved out from behind his desk for a second time. He then proceeded to cross the room and sit in the wing-tip chair across from her.

"Yes, I don't think anyone would say that about their own case," He admitted. "However, from a psychiatric stand-point, your recovery has been relatively smooth and . . . well, quite quick! It was _shockingly_ quick and smooth, actually . . .!"

"If I am recovered, then why I am still here?" She asked him, her eyebrow rising in polite sarcasm, and Quinn turned a kind gaze onto her.

"Technically, since you _are_ cured, it is now your decision now on whether or not you would want to stay here with the children. However, I would _like_ for you to remain here just a little bit longer to make sure that the death of Bumby did not do any lasting damage to your psyche, you understand? We don't want you to have a relapse!" He shrugged. "But, that is not my call anymore, however, and thus, not my decision to make! The question is: _do _you want to stay here, Alice? But also keep in mind that you do not _have_ to stay here while I treat you! If you want, we could look at getting you your own place – your own way of supporting yourself while you come here for your sessions." He asked her, and Alice sat there and thought for a moment. It had been a long time since someone had asked her about anything, especially when it regarded her own opinion. Most of the time people had demanded and commanded things of her, never in this quiet, deferential voice this man was using to speak to her now.

However, he did bring up a valid point. The last thing Alice wanted and needed while trying to get her life back onto a relatively normal track, was a relapse into the madness that she had been a victim of since she was ten-years-old! If this doctor could do what all the other doctors couldn't and help her get past any lasting damage, then that would be amazing!

Alice turned her startlingly green eyes down onto her lap, where her hands were wringing nervously as she spoke,

"I . . . I think I shall fallow your advice and stay here a little while longer. Your right, I do not neither want, nor particularly need a relapse at this time, and I will need help getting back on my feet. And besides, the children need me. I am an old face, someone they can trust until they get to know you!" She spoke and Quinn nodded in understanding.

"If you ask for my opinion, that was a very good, very mature decision, Alice. Bumby was a right wanker, and I would hate to see his talons still sunk into your mind! Also, I thank you – that would help immensely! Your file says you are quite a clever girl and that your father was the Dean of Oxford?" Alice nodded and laughed a little.

"Yes. He was a very kind, very intelligent man. I miss him terribly, especially his stories." Quinn gazed at her in curiosity.

"Do you not miss your mother?"

"Of course I do, Doctor, it's just . . . Lizzie was always mother's favorite, in my opinion. I much preferred father because of the books and papers in his study. It was all so very comforting." He smiled a small smile.

"I was the same way. My father was a rich lawyer and his library was always so full and warm – _comforting_ – as you put it." She gazed at him in curiosity at his words.

"Where are you from?"

He smiled in nostalgia. "America – or, the States, I should say. My father was descended from a long line of very successful and very rich plantation owners in the bayous of Louisiana. When my grandfather died, my father decided to relinquish the family farm to my uncle and then go to Harvard law school. He moved to Manhattan, New York when he graduated and opened a very successful practice there helping African Americans still being hunted by their old slave owners for revenge purposes. When I grew older and we heard that my uncle had died without leaving any children behind, much less a widow, it fell onto me on whether or not I wanted to go to school or to inherit the plantation. I placed it in the care of my younger brother, Jerome, and then went to study underneath Doctor Wilhelm Wundt at his University of Leipzig for medical school, where I majored in psychiatrics. I came here to both experience the world and to find a lasting career," He shrugged. "And when I got here, I heard of Doctor Bumby from a close colleague of mine and immediately jumped up to buy his practice."

Alice was gazing at him in admiration. "That was very brave of you, Quinn . . . to both move to such a big city such as London, Paris and Leipzig and then buy out the practice and patients of a mad doctor . . . to clean up after him, so-to-speak!" Quinn grinned and chuckled.

"It's not bravery, Alice, when you have no options left. It was either get a job and be successful, or go home to my father, mother and brother with my tail between my legs!"

"But . . . it _was_ your decision, was it not?" She asked him and Quinn nodded as he crossed his arms across his chest, and his feet at the ankles.

"Yes, I suppose it was, but that does not mean that my parents did not try to dissuade me! That's one thing most people do not realize about Americans - they are as bloodthirsty and stubborn – probably more-so – than any people of any other country that I have ever seen! Even though my father was a lawyer – even though he had went to school to _be_ a lawyer and had lived in Manhattan, a big city also, he claimed that he had always regretted not staying home and taking over the plantation. So, he tried to get me to do it, thinking that I would eventually regret it like he did."

"Do you?"

Quinn thought for a moment before finally shaking his head. "Not as much as my father would want me to. I'm not a farmer, Alice, and I certainly am not good at disciplining people. Besides, I've wanted to be psychiatrist since I was a boy. I always knew I wanted to help people, and psychiatry's just . . . it's such a huge map, with little more than a quarter of it actually explored! True, Freud and Wundt and Jung mapped out a lot, but still, I feel that there's _more _to it, and the more we figure out about the mind, the more that we can help people." He told her and she nodded before he turned a soft gaze on to her. "Tell me, what did you want to be, Alice, when you were young?"

Alice thought for a moment. "I uh . . . I wanted to be a writer. It didn't matter what I would write about – editorials, textbooks, even poetry like Dickens – it didn't matter! I loved to write, and I would have done anything to see that through!" She told him, her eyes lighting up, and Quinn gazed at her curiously.

"You still do enjoy writing, though, do you not?" He asked her, and Alice shrugged and looked down at the floor.

"I . . . I truthfully don't know. I was never allowed any paper or writing utensils at Rutledge except under heavy supervision, in fear that I would use them as weapons or to harm myself, and Bumby . . . Bumby viewed such writings as not being able to let go of the past," She told him, and Quinn nodded and gestured for her to wait for a moment as he moved over to one of the bookcases that lined the wall behind his desk. He scanned the spines for a moment before he withdrew a book and gave it to her. She furrowed her eyebrows in confusion for a moment as she flipped the black leather book open, revealing clean, flawless pages. "I . . . I don't understand, Quinn . . ."

"I want you to write again, Alice," Quinn told her as he took the chair next to her. "This is a journal, and for your homework, I want you to write in it and let me see what you have written at next week's session. I don't care what you write – poetry, ramblings, dreams – even drawings – anything! I think . . . I think that this will help you get better, Alice. Thoughts on paper make it . . . impersonal in a way. Do you want to?"

Alice's eyes shot on to his. There he was, 'asking' her to do something again instead of commanding her to do it. She had planned on saying no and then throwing a tantrum when he insisted, but . . . he _didn't_ insist, that was the thing! He had asked her if she had wanted to write, and strangely . . . she _wanted _to write in the expensive, thick black leather journal she held in her hands. She _wanted _to let him read the entries that next week, and she _wanted _him to know everything: her past, her life . . . even maybe her Wonderland.

"Would you like to, Alice . . .?" Quinn asked her again, his voice fading in and out of her comprehension, and after a while, she shook her head back into awareness and then smiled a small smile at him.

"I . . . I think I would, Quinn. I think I would like that very much, actually!" Quinn smiled a small smile and nodded.

"Good - that's good! Well . . . if there's nothing else you would like to talk about, how would you feel about us returning to what we were doing? I would . . . like to do a little research today and besides, I only called you up here because I wanted to meet you!" He spoke and Alice shrugged, blush tingeing her cheeks at the mention that he had only wanted to meet her before their sessions actually formerly began.

"I suppose I wouldn't mind . . ." She spoke as she stood, Quinn standing with her. She moved to the door, hugging the journal to her chest before she spun around to face him. "Uh . . . Quinn, can I ask you something?" She asked quietly, and he nodded and turned his gaze on to her.

"You can ask me anything you want within the walls of this office, Alice! That's why I'm here!"

"I . . . I was wondering . . . are you going to take on all the children that Bumby was treating?" She asked, and Quinn shrugged.

"I probably won't, unfortunately. I don't have the time, quite frankly. Many have been taken on by other doctors who need more patients, and then there are those whom I do not find mentally impaired enough to stay here for treatment. They shall be sent to another orphanage somewhere," He turned an interested gaze onto her. "Why do you ask?" Alice shrugged.

"It just . . . I hate seeing some of the children cast out on the streets alone. They have good hearts, Quinn, all of them do!" She spoke and he nodded in agreement.

"I know, Alice, I know! But . . . I just do not have the time to treat them, I'm sorry!" He apologized again, and this time, Alice turned an angry look on to him.

"Oh, but you have time for me – someone who technically doesn't even need to be here, isn't that right?" She snapped, and Quinn furrowed his eyebrows together in confusion and recoiled at Alice's tone.

"Alice, you do not _have_ to be here!" He reminded her. "I only want to treat you because you seem like a young woman who is in desperate need of help and guidance! And besides, if they go to other doctors and orphanages, it's not like they are going to be cast out onto the street to starve!" Alice's shoulders slumped at his words and she nodded.

"Yes, I did not think about that . . ." She spoke, and he smiled as he stepped closer and placed his hands on her shoulders.

"You are a very special young woman, Alice! I _want _to help you because I don't want your lasting images of a doctor and a grown man to be an insane pervert! I want to show you that we all can't be bad!" She smiled up at him. She was really quite beautiful when she smiled . . .

"Thank you Quinn . . ." She spoke before grasping the doorknob. She gasped before the opened the door, however, and turned to face him again. "That reminds me! A delivery boy left a few boxes and suitcases for you this morning. I assume it's some of your things. Would you like me to bring them up?" She asked, and he shook his head.

"No, no, I'll go down and get them later. I could use your help unpacking some of them, though . . ." He spoke, smiling, and Alice returned the smile as he opened the door and allowed her to inch her way past him to the hallway outside his office. She was still clutching the black journal to her chest, almost as if it was a comforting stuffed animal or any other toy that she couldn't bare to be parted with.

Vaguely, he wondered what had happened to the white rabbit he had read about in the casebook. Did Wilson indeed take it away from her? And if he did, did she ever get it back?

He shook the thoughts from his mind as he turned his gaze back down onto her. That was a question for another day. "I'll be happy to help you, Quinn! Just . . . let me drop the journal off in my room real quick, okay?" She asked, and he nodded.

"Of course, but take your time, though, Alice. I want to go through one more case file before I go down, okay?" He asked, and grinning, she nodded as she turned around and bounded off. She moved like a doe did . . . fluidly and with a grace that not many people but dancers had. Vaguely, for a moment, he wondered where she got her grace and fluidity from . . .

He closed the door then, both to ward off the coldness that wanted desperately to get inside, and the white cat that thankfully, was not sitting at the end of the hallway again, but also the surely inappropriate thoughts that would enter his mind if he stayed there and watched her for any second longer.


	3. Chapter 3

The sounds of children's laughter could be heard from everywhere on the second and first floors as Quinn made his way out of his office to the foyer, where Alice had told him that the boxes and suitcases were waiting for him. Sure enough, he recognized a few boxes and a couple of expensive leather suitcases waiting inside the house by the front door with his wife's immaculate scrawl across the sticker surfaces detailing the address and return address.

He felt the children eyeing him warily as he moved past them to the boxes and suitcases, and he gave them soft, kind smiles as he went. They calmed the children down a little but they still did not go back to playing with their toys with the same vim and vigor that they had been using before he entered the room.

He stooped down once he reached the packages and ran his hand over a suitcase, trying in vain to recognize what Johanna had shipped over before she and Lucy themselves arrived with the rest of their things. She sent some clothing for all three of them and some precious mementoes but other than that, there was nothing too important – nothing that he needed or particularly wanted, anyway.

"I'm sorry, I should have told you that she sent more than I described!" Alice apologized as she crossed the room to him from where she had been standing playing hopscotch with a couple of young girls. They had been playing on a grid that had been chalked onto the wooden floor by the archway leading into the room, and Quinn shook his head, a gentle smile playing out on his face. Funny pictures of Johanna throwing a fit when she saw the chalk grid drawn on the floor, was running through his head like a marathon runner, causing him to chuckle slightly.

He tilted his head up to gaze at her through ebony colored locks of hair that hung down into his face, and he noticed how quickly she blushed and looked away. He ignored it, though, as he spoke. "Think nothing of it, Alice. I should have realized that Johanna being the way she is would have sent more than just a couple of boxes!" He laughed and Alice gave a short laugh herself before gesturing to the boxes and the suitcases.

"Shall we carry on, then?" She asked, and Quinn nodded as he stooped down and picked up a heavier box. With a grunt, he stood with it in his arms, only to see Alice gesturing two of the older, larger boys over to them. "Tommy, Harry, would you mind helping us?" She asked them kindly, and the two boys, who were not much younger than she was, nodded and moved over to the boxes and suitcases.

"Yes, of course Miss Alice!" They spoke before dissolving back into wordlessness. They said nothing while completing the task that Alice had given them, but Quinn could tell as the two boys followed them up the two flights of stairs to the third floor and his office, that they gazed at Alice with looks of adoration on their faces.

"Yes, right here should be fine for now!" Quinn told them as he led them into his office and directed them to place the boxes over by a nearby window, where there was actually free space away from all the clutter he had yet to organize into any semblance of order. They nodded and set the boxes down before moving from the office to go collect the others. Alice watched them go with a soft eye.

"They're darlings, don't you think?" She asked him before she tucked a lock of black hair behind her ear and moved over to a box, where she began helping him unpack. Quinn grinned and glanced at her as he starting removing Johanna's precious porcelain dolls from their carefully wrapped box.

"They like you . . ." He told her, trying to make his voice sound nonchalant, and Alice shook her head in reply, although a grin did grace her features nonetheless.

"No they do not!" She laughed and Quinn nodded, laughing as well.

"Yes they do! You did not see the looks of adoration on their faces as we made our way up here from the first floor? They looked at you like they wanted nothing more but to worship the ground that you had just walked on!" A lovely pinkness bloomed across her cheeks at that moment, but she continued to grin as she proceeded to help him unpack his boxes.

"Yes, well, I am afraid that they will have to deal with those feelings of theirs being unreciprocated for the moment!" She spoke and Quinn chuckled as he too went back to unpacking the boxes. He packed Johanna's porcelain dolls away into another box, to be placed in the apartment later.

They worked in silence for a moment after that, stopping only to tell the two boys thank you when the last of the suitcases and boxes had been brought up. They nodded back in welcome but glared at Quinn and the close proximity between him and Alice with such venomous looks that he was momentarily taken aback. Sometimes, he forgot that he was being housed in an orphanage with some children who could very well have some serious mental problems brought on by both birth and early environment. Who knew how many had come from abusive homes or from the unholy union of a brother or sister or of a father and his daughter? Quinn had forgotten that all of them weren't like Alice. He made a mental note to find their files and read through them later.

"I forget sometimes that some of the other children are not like you . . ." He spoke quietly, voicing his thoughts, and Alice furrowed her brows in slight confusion.

"How do you mean?"

"I keep forgetting that they're not like you in the respect of being relatively normal – responsible and mature. I forget sometimes that the only reason I'm here is to be a psychiatrist to them and not just a caretaker!" He explained, and Alice laughed a little. Her laugh was a little bitter and once again, Quinn found himself being taken aback.

"I'm not normal, Quinn, please do not think that I am!" She spoke, her voice still bitter and despite that evident bitterness, Quinn felt himself almost swoon at the sound of her saying his name. He didn't want to, but it happened so instinctively, so automatically, that it was almost as if he had been talking to Johanna.

Dear Lord, what was _happening _to him!?

"Well, taking into consideration some of the others and from what I've gathered from the files I've read -!"

"_I'm not _ . . . _normal_ . . . _Quinn_!" She interrupted him by turning her startling green eyes up to his, a certain emotion to the depths that he couldn't quite place. She slowly punctuated every word but his name, almost as if she was driving home her point. Her tone was so alarming, that Quinn stopped packing for a moment and turned to face her.

"Alice, considering everything that has happened to you in your life and how your acting now, you're relatively cured! The only reason you're here is to make sure you don't suffer a relapse or a breakdown! Why can you not see that you are – for all intents and purposes – _normal_?" Alice shook her head, almost sorrowfully.

"I've never been normal, Quinn," She confessed quietly. "Even when I was young, Lizzie was always considered the _normal _one. I was just . . ." She trailed off, and Quinn leaned forward slightly.

"You were just considered what?" Alice sighed and turned back to unpacking the box in front of her. She shook her head.

"Nothing, Quinn – it's nothing," She told him. "Let's just say that I was always the quiet one in the family . . . the more introverted and imaginative one, whereas Lizzie was more of the socialite. I hated people; I always have, whereas everyone positively _adored _Lizzie. People have a tendency to complicate me and I don't like that. Not-to-mention, I fear nothing and that . . . unsettles people sometimes. . ." She confessed and Quinn could tell by the way her face pinkened even more and from the way that she purposefully avoided his eyes, that she was not used to confessing these sorts of things with other people, especially with men.

"I can understand that. If I experienced half of what you have experienced, I'd entertain my own vigil too half the time!" Alice ignored him as she reached into the box and withdrew a framed black and white photograph. It depicted a tall, willowy woman dressed in height of that day's Parisian fashion. Her long blonde hair was pinned behind her head in an elegant ponytail and even through the black and white of the photograph, it was clear that she had beautiful blue eyes. Her aquiline but still pretty face also housed a Cupid's bow mouth and high cheekbones. She looked the stark difference from Alice and Quinn, and she gestured to the picture.

"Is this your wife?" She asked in interest, and Quinn nodded as he took the picture from her. He took it rather hastily and he could tell that it took Alice aback a little bit. He didn't know why, but for some reason he didn't want Alice knowing that he had a wife – a _pretty _wife.

"Yes, that is Johanna. We have a daughter too, Lucy, but I don't have a picture of her quite yet. She is . . . too young, I suppose. The bright light of the camera could hurt her eyes." He explained and Alice smiled a small smile.

"She's beautiful, Quinn . . ." She spoke and he nodded absentmindedly.

"Yes, I suppose she is . . ." He spoke, somewhat quietly and off-handedly, and Alice laughed playfully.

"Why, Quinn, if I didn't know any better I would think that you don't think your wife is beautiful!" She teased, and Quinn glanced at her.

"I've seen much prettier young women lately." He spoke before he could catch himself and he immediately knew what he said when Alice's face turned yet another shade darker. His eyes widened and he hastily inclined his head to her in apology. "Oh, I'm so-so sorry Alice! As your doctor, that was _completely _out of line! I offer my humblest apologies!" His heart was beating a frantic drum in his chest and his brain was desperately trying to understand just _why _he had blurted that out in the first place! Always, before he came here, Johanna had been the love of his life – the apple of his eye! She had been the most beautiful, lovely, kind woman on the entire planet! Now . . . now she was just a woman of average beauty, with average features and personality.

Everything had changed when he had met Alice.

Alice's gentle laughter brought him out of his thoughts and he turned his eyes down onto her, only to find her gazing up at him with a soft expression. "I thank you, Quinn, although I do not think I am any prettier than your wife!" She spoke and Quinn brightened up slightly. He opened his mouth to speak, to tell her that _yes_ she was prettier than Johanna was – that her exotic beauty was very attractive! He opened his mouth to say so many things but Alice interrupted him by moving away from him and the boxes and over to the papers and files stacked high on his desk. She gazed at him sympathetically. "You have a lot of work to do, don't you? I never realized that . . . _he _was so disorganized!"

It took Quinn a moment to realize that she was speaking in reference to Bumby, and he nodded and sighed tiredly as he ran his fingers through his hair. "Yes, it's been difficult. All those files need to be dictated, reviewed, opinionated on . . . some of them are just mere sentences!" He shook his head. "I don't know how I'm ever going to get through with them _and _have my regular sessions!"

"I could help . . . if you want . . ." Alice spoke quietly, and Quinn turned a thankful gaze onto her.

"Would you really? Of course, some of the more confidential stuff I would have to do myself, but all the sorting and minor dictating you could certainly help with! And yes, I would pay you too!" He told her, and Alice laughed a little again.

"Normally, I would deny payment, but it would certainly be nice to have some loose pocket change every now and then. You know . . . to buy the children candy on special occasions and stuff like that. They enjoy it and it lifts their spirits some . . ." Quinn's eyes softened.

"Alice, I could do that myself – that isn't necessary! They're _my_ responsibility now and ever since Bumby, I _want _them to create good memories from here on out! It's my professional opinion in fact! No, this money, _you _could spend, on things _you _wanted! How would you like that?" He asked and Alice stood there and thought for a moment.

"I suppose . . . it would be nice . . ." She finally admitted, almost as if the very thought of owning something that was just hers, was foreign to her. Quinn smiled.

"Well, perfect then! Shall we . . . get started?" He asked, sighing as he gestured to the mountain on his desk, and Alice returned the smile and nodded as she met him behind his desk. They leaned over it together and Quinn smiled at the thought that with Alice taking this job, he would get to see her even more than he already did.

* * *

"Well, it certainly looks roomier in here!" Quinn remarked cheerfully as he backed away from his desk, stretching as he did so. His back popped slightly and he winced as he lowered his arms back down to his sides. Alice grinned indulgently as she deposited a few books into the already packed bookcases behind his now halfway cleared desk. He gazed around the space around them and nodded in approval. "It looks _a lot _roomier, actually!" Alice laughed from behind him.

"Remember Quinn, we still have the rest of those files to go through and the boxes stacked against that wall there that need to be unpacked as well!" She reminded him and Quinn laughed.

"The files will get done eventually, Alice, and as for the boxes – Johanna can do all that herself!" Alice continued to grin but he could tell by the look in her eye, that she did not like him mentioning Johanna. Perhaps it was because in only a few short days, another woman would be arriving, another woman who would make the changes around the home and the other day-to-day decisions that Quinn couldn't be bothered with, forcing Alice to revert back to the role of patient and Quinn's sometime assistant. Quinn had to admit, if he was Alice, he wouldn't appreciate it either.

He shrugged nonchalantly. "I just don't relish the prospect of living in that apartment – knowing that Bumby resided in those rooms and slept in the same bed that I will once. It sends chills down my spine!" He confessed, and Alice glanced at him.

"Does your wife know of him?" She asked and he shook his head.

"She knows he's dead and that this used to be his practice. But no, she doesn't know _of _him or of how he had died. Johanna would have refused to come here if she knew the truth. She would have refused to raise Lucy in a place with such a history."

"She must really be supportive of you."

Quinn sighed and nodded, feeling a momentary twinge of guilt. Here he was having unexplained, completely inappropriate thoughts and feelings for Alice despite the fact that he knew that Johanna had been very supportive of him throughout his long schooling at Wundt's University and then their subsequent courtship and marriage. Finally, he nodded wearily.

"Yes . . . yes she is."

Oh God, what was _wrong_ with him?


	4. Chapter 4

_A few days later . . ._

_1865_

_6, January, 1865_

_Another patient died in the night. I'd been treating her with the same potion I intended for Alice. I had been quite certain she was improving with each subsequent vial, so this development is quite vexing. Perhaps the stronger mixture was too much for her chronically weak chest. A little more experimentation is in order before I feed this serum to Alice._

_"A little less laudanum and a little more camphor might have spared her." -13/12/73_

_22, January, 1865_

_The bleeding doesn't appear to be causing a significant change, except for the increased pallor of her complexion. Contrasted against her drab rags, she's turned an uncanny shade of ivory. The bloodletting will prime her constitution for my restorative potion._

_18, February, 1865_

_Three amputations in a week - that's a high number for any hospital. I dream of wiggling stumps and splintery crutches. I mumble a prayer of thanks to Napoleon's surgeon - how terrible the screams must have been before he discovered the technique for painless amputation._

_I can't seem to escape the chloroform's cloying odor._

_23, February, 1985_

_Through the windows of my laboratory, I can glimpse the garden ward. Nurse D is leading a group of children to the airing room. I listen to great shuffling of feet on the pebble path. Will Alice, I wonder, ever stroll the grounds with the others? Will she ever regain her senses? Or, for the rest of her days will she remain cloistered behind these thick, grey walls? Based on her progress so far, it seems futile to hold out much hope for a cure._

_"Little could I have imagined her mind would eventually gambol in unimaginable forests and gardens." -27/1/74_

_24, February, 1985_

_In the first months of her treatment, a surgeon by the name of Grantham took particular interest in Alice's case. He viewed her early reluctance to rejoin society as quite normal considering what she'd been through - the all-consuming fire, the loss of one's entire family, the shattered and scorched body. It's quite natural for anyone, let alone a child, to give way under such strain._

_Yet, as the months passed, and as Grantham became more familiar with Alice, he began to comprehend that her problems were a manifestation of a far graver trauma. Bones eventually mended, as did the seared flesh; yet Alice remained locked away in her cocoon. Unfortunate chap, this Grantham; it seems like he had a collapse of his own. One day he was going about his hospital routine, perambulating amongst the feeble and infirm. The next day, though no one knows why, he turned up every bit as diseased as one of his patients, speaking gibberish and smashing apothecary jars. I've seen it happen here where doctors pass over to the other side, and, frankly, I'm surprised it doesn't happen more often. At any rate, Grantham's tale concludes with a particularly grisly accident with a surgical implement._

_23, March, 1985_

_Nothing seems to aggravate the girl. I've tried restraint — handcuffs, leg-locks and straightjackets. I've tried solitary confinement. On the other hand, I've allowed her to smell freedom, leaving her for hours at a time unattended in the garden. Yet nothing stirs her. I still have a number of methods, some of which I haven't engaged in since the old days, but I'm beginning to doubt anything can bring about a change in this one._

_1, April, 1985_

_Each year on this peculiar day I pause — exactly at noon according to my pocket-watch — to ponder the absurdity of such a day. Is it not ironic that we here should celebrate a holiday dedicated to fools?_

_The girl has shut down completely. If it were possible, I'd say Alice has retreated even further into what the European practitioners of psychiatry call her "psyche." I'll keep trying different methods, but unless there's some sort of marked improvement, there's no reason to hope. I'll document progress . . . if indeed there ever is any progress._

Quinn slowly shut the casebook after finishing with the second documented year of Alice's incarceration in Rutledge and moved to support himself on his desk by his elbows. He bowed his head as his fingers massaged at his temples, where a migraine threatened to pound a brutal beat. He could only take Wilson's casebook in short bursts, for otherwise, he was sure his head would explode with all the quackery and misguidedness contained within its yellowing pages. No _wonder _it took Alice so long to get better and even now, under his careful guidance, she still jumped and trembled at the slightest sound and touch.

He also knew she had nightmares – terrible nightmares if the other children could be understood and believed. And even if he hadn't gently prodded the children with information, he could tell from the way she screamed at night - screamed for her mother and father and Lizzie; screamed for 'Wonderland' to be whole again – whatever that meant. He made a mental note to ask her the next time he saw her again, though. It might be crucial to getting down to the root of her problem.

After rubbing his tired face with his hands, he leaned back in his chair and turned his eyes onto the window, where he gazed out into the white world beyond. Winter had come early this year it seemed, for it was now snowing. The children had been outside all day for the past two days playing out in the snow, even if they didn't have the proper clothing, and Quinn made another mental note to remedy that situation. He didn't want or need any of the children getting sick and dying on his hands, much less getting frostbit. He wasn't like Bumby who didn't care – he _did_ care! They were _his_ responsibility now and as far as he was concerned, they _were _his children now!

A knock came on the other side of his door and he automatically called his permission for them to enter, his eyes never leaving their spot on the frosty window. He was now long used to people walking in and out of his office, to the point where a slew of colorful drawings done by the various children were now taped to the walls of his office, exactly the same height as them, and many without him even realizing that he had let them in! The result was that most of the drawings were taped only halfway up the wall, but Quinn didn't mind. He kind of liked them, in fact. It made his office a lot less imposing and a lot warmer.

The door open a split second later and a shivering Alice jumped quickly inside. Her arms were folded in front of her chest and she was shivering underneath her rather threadbare shawl. Quinn, immediately alarmed, shot up in his chair. "Alice, are you alright?" He asked her in clear concern, and she smiled kindly at his worry and nodded as she moved to sit in one of the overstuffed emerald green armchairs situated in front of the roaring fire.

"Yes, yes, I'm fine, Quinn, you don't have to worry so! It's just . . . the hallway outside your office is as cold as it is outside! I'm _freezing_!" As if to prove the point, she rubbed her rather thin upper arms through her shawl and shivered again. He smiled and stood up from his chair before he moved out from behind his desk.

"I have brandy, if you want one. It takes the nip out!" He spoke and she smiled and shook her head.

"Thanks but no thanks, Quinn. Brandy has never been one of my things, you understand?" She spoke, trailing off, her mind immediately going back to Priss Witless and her blackmail for brandy and gin. Quinn smiled as he moved over to the crystal cut decanter of brandy and matching glasses sitting on one corner of his desk.

"_Okay_, I'm starting to know that look now! What are you thinking about, Alice?" Alice shrugged as she pulled her shawl closer around her.

"It's just . . ." She smiled and laughed then as she shook her head. "Forget it, never mind! I came up here to inquire if you needed anything from the marketplace. I'm going down for a few personal things with Bess and thought I would ask you if you needed anything. You almost never come out of your office so I never know what you need until I've come back!" Quinn smiled as he swirled his brandy in his glass for a moment before taking a sip.

"You know what, I'll go with you! I have to stop by the tailor's anyway." He said and Alice furrowed her eyebrows in slight confusion for a moment.

"The tailor? What would you need to go to the tailor for?" Quinn shrugged.

"I thought I would stop buy and place an order for winter clothing for the children – in bulk. The children seem like they could use some new winter things. I don't want them getting sick or frostbit from playing in the snow." A look crossed Alice's face and for a moment he didn't know what it meant until her eyes softened. Then he realized it wasn't just respect glinting behind those bright green orbs, but adoration as well.

That look alone made his heart skip a beat and then flutter back to a steady rhythm in his chest.

"That's . . . they would like that, Quinn . . . they would like that a lot, actually!" She spoke quietly and it was after that that they descended into their first real comfortable silence with each other. Quinn stood there against his desk, his glass of brandy in his hand while Alice sat gazing into the fire with the shawl wrapped around her. The fire shone off of her pale skin and black hair, making it shine in the light and once again, Quinn was struck by her gothic, sorrowful beauty. They stayed in that silence before Quinn broke it by gesturing to her.

"You uh . . . what are you wearing to go to the marketplace?" He asked, and Alice shrugged as she turned her head to gaze at him.

"Oh, um . . . this, I suppose . . ." She shrugged again as she gestured to the shawl wrapped around her with her head and Quinn blanched.

"You can't be serious!" Alice shrugged again.

"I'll be fine Quinn! This is what I've always worn the entire time I was here and I haven't gotten sick once!" She spoke confidantly, and Quinn shook his head again as he set his glass of brandy down beside him on the face of the desk.

"No, no, no, you're not going out like that and I won't take no for an answer!" He spoke firmly, in a voice that said he would brook no argument as he moved over to one of the boxes. After breaking one open and reaching inside, he pulled out a sapphire blue velvet winter cloak of Johanna's, that also just happened to be trimmed in white fox fur. Alice's eyes widened in shock as she immediately jumped up from her chair by the fire. She shook her head in an adamant 'no' as she did so.

"Quinn, I cannot possibly – that's your _wife's_!" Quinn nodded and gestured for her to approach him.

"Yes, I know, but it'll only be for this one time and I doubt Johanna would freak out about you wearing it just this once!" He purposefully didn't add that this was Johanna's favorite cloak, but what his wife didn't know wouldn't exactly hurt her, now would it? "Now come on, Alice, we don't have all day!"

Alice slowly approached him, her wide eyes still stuck on the blue velvet cloak in his hands and when she reached him, she turned around, allowing him to fasten it gently around her. Pulling out her silken hair moments later, she stepped away and turned to face him, Quinn marveling at how good it looked on her.

"It looks gorgeous on you! The color compliments your hair . . ." He spoke and blush bloomed across her cheeks at his words.

"I haven't worn velvet in such a long time . . . I had forgotten what it felt like! And oh – fox fur!" Her long fingers smoothed through the soft white fur, and Quinn smiled warmly as he moved back over to his desk and took up his glass of brandy.

"Well, you look beautiful in it – _stunning_ even!" He spoke good-naturedly and Alice smiled as she closed the distance between him, one of her small hands landing on his wrist, keeping him from bringing the glass of brandy to his lips so that he could drain it like he had originally planned to.

"You know, I've never _actually _had brandy before . . . I'm afraid I lied to you . . .!" She spoke quietly as she observed the amber gold liquid sitting in the glass in his equally as golden colored hand. He swallowed heavily as she shrugged then in indifference and put her lips to the rim. Guiding him, she tilted her head back and drained the glass, causing his mouth to go dry when he took away the glass and she didn't cough or her eyes water. But a light blush was spreading across her cheeks, though, nonetheless – a light, lovely blush.

Quinn felt his cock stiffen slightly at the picture, but quickly turned around before she could see, the glass being deposited back in its place beside the decanter and glasses seconds later.

"S-Shall we depart? I don't think this snow is going to get any lighter!" He laughed as he shrugged on his coat and turned around to face her. She nodded in agreement, a look of slight confusion in her eyes.

"Y-yes, we should. Um, I'll go get ready Bess; you want to meet us in the foyer?" She asked, and he nodded as she departed from his office, more hastily than she ever had. He let out a long held-in breath of relief when she left, his hand moving to cover his mouth. What was happening to him? That question alone he found moving through his thoughts with the speed and recurrence of the innate need to breath! He didn't know _why_ Alice occupied most of his thoughts now – he had no idea why he was so _infatuated _with her! He had a wife, who he loved; he had a daughter, who he _loved_ more than anything! Why was he so willing to forsake all that for another woman – but not just any woman, one of his _patients_! He shook his head. He didn't know what it was, but what he did know, was that it needed to stop. It needed to stop, now, before something happened that he wouldn't be able to get out of.

Once he had calmed down enough for him show his face around Alice and the children, he left his office and entered the frigid hallway outside. He practically ran to the door that led to the staircase that would lead down to the second and first floors and practically ran down those as well. When he entered the foyer, Alice and Bess were waiting for him, Bess wrapped in a moth-eaten and patched winter coat and gloves. He grimaced at the sight of them but they were articles of clothing that seemed like they would hold until the new shipment came in, nonetheless.

Smiling, he joined them and inclined his head slightly. Elizabeth giggled and Alice simply smiled as her hand moved to stroke the back of Elizabeth's head. "Ladies, shall we embark on our adventure to the marketplace for today?" Elizabeth nodded and Alice's smile grew bigger into a grin as she bounded to the doorway, where she pulled it open with some effort. Alice moved closer to Quinn, who grinned back. "She seems particularly excited!" He spoke in slight awe and Alice shrugged as she pulled on her own gloves.

"She would be, wouldn't she? She's afraid to go outside at all unless there is someone she trusts with her. Knowing that, she rarely, if ever, goes outside except with me. She's been excited about going to the marketplace all day!" She explained and Quinn sighed and shook his head.

"Well then, Alice, let's make this a truly memorable outing for her, shall we?" He asked, and Alice nodded in agreement as they moved outside after Elizabeth, who had bounded down the stairs, laughing as she went. Alice hurried after her, begging her to be careful lest she slip on the patches of ice dotted here and there on the steps and sidewalk as Quinn shut the door behind him. He shivered underneath the snowy white flakes that fell from the white sky and buried his hands deep down in his pockets after he turned up his collar. He was wearing gloves but he should have worn a scarf as well, and understandably kicked himself for it. It was bitingly cold outside. He couldn't understand how the children could tolerate being in it without the proper clothing.

Alice smiled as she and Elizabeth rejoined him, Alice taking her spot beside him and Elizabeth taking the spot beside her, their gloved hands entwined. "Cold, Quinn?" She asked in amusement, and he nodded, his teeth chattering.

"Y-Y-Yes, I am!" He answered before smiling and laughing breathlessly. Their breaths came out before them in little puff of clear fog. "It's the curse of being born and raised in the Deep South, I suppose!" He joked and Alice laughed as well as they turned a corner.

"Do you want to go to the tailor's first? It's just right around the corner here and the marketplace isn't far from there." She spoke, and Quinn nodded.

"Yes, let's go there first, that way we don't forget!" He agreed, although, for the life of him, he didn't know why he would.

Elizabeth furrowed her eyebrows gently in confusion. "Why we goin' to the tailor, Miss Alice?" She asked Alice, who smiled down at her.

"Doctor Reeves is going to place a new shipment of winter clothing for you and the rest of the children. Now you guys can play out in the snow _all day_ and not get cold!" She told her and Elizabeth's eyes lit up like firecrackers as she turned the beautiful blue orbs onto Quinn. He couldn't help but grin back.

"_Really_? Bumby never did anythin' like that for us, Docta Reeves! Can I haf' mine in blew? Alice says blew matches me eyes!" She spoke and Quinn and Alice laughed as Quinn nodded indulgently and held open the frosted glass door to the tailor's shop, where he stepped aside to allow the two girls entrance before him.

"Yes, Bess, darling, you can have your winter clothing in blue. I happen to agree with Alice, as well!" He spoke and Bess grinned and laughed as Quinn stepped inside the warm interior, shaking off the cold as he went. An old man wearing round spectacles and a yellow, fading tape measure over his shoulders, was waiting patiently behind the counter for him to approach.

"Yes sir, what can I do for you?" He asked, and Quinn smiled as he leaned on the counter slightly, still trying to catch his breath.

"Yes, I would like to place an order for winter clothes for twenty children." He spoke and the tailor arched his eyebrows in slight surprise.

"Are you the psychiatrist that took off Bumby's place?" He asked, and Quinn nodded, his heart immediately doing a free-fall into his stomach. Great . . . here come the accusations that he's mad for taking over such an accursed practice!

But the tailor didn't say any of that. He simply smiled a small smile and nodded his head in approval. "I think that's a right good thing you did. And I think it's a right good thing you're doing now, standing in here ordering winter clothes for the children!" He smiled as he stuck out his hand over the counter. "I'm William Hunsdon, the tailor here in Whitechapel. And you are . . .?" Quinn smiled as he took his hand and shook it.

"Tarquinn Reeves, nice to meet you." He returned, and the old man smiled before he shook his head despairingly. He pulled a notepad towards him and a pencil, where he began jotting down the various measurements he would need.

"Not once did I ever see Bumby in here ordering things for the young ones. It warms my old heart to see you in here!" He spoke and Quinn nodded, although he barely heard him as he glanced back over his shoulder. Elizabeth was kneeling in one of the benches against one of the large windows, drawing abstract designs in the fog on the windows. He smiled a small smile and returned his eyes onto the tailor.

"Uh yeah, can one of those be made all in blue?" He asked and the tailor arched an inquiringly eyebrow in his direction, one that Quinn smiled a half-smile at seeing and laughed. "Uh . . . Elizabeth likes blue -!"

"It matches me eyes!" Elizabeth suddenly interrupted him as she bounded over to the counter, where she hopped up on it. William smiled gently and nodded as he peered into her face.

"And indeed it does! The color would look lovely on you, Miss. Elizabeth, your right!" He spoke and Elizabeth giggled as Quinn looked over his other shoulder to find where Alice had gotten off to. She was standing in front of a mannequin that was in turn, was standing in the store window and which was wearing a beautiful red and flowing winter dress. It was cut simply and modestly, and was made of a material that wasn't all that expensive and hard to produce. It was just a simple red dress that just happened to fit the female form quite beautifully. Alice, however, was standing there nonetheless, gazing at it like it was a completely foreign thing to her. He watched, impassively, as she slowly stretched out her fingers to brush them against the fabric, immediately snapping her hand back to her body when they touched it, almost as if the fabric had burned her.

And suddenly, Quinn was hit with the overpowering realization that it had been _so long _since Alice had, had anything beautiful to call her own. For so long, she had been surrounded by nothing but dull grays, blacks, browns, whites and greens (from being repeatedly subjected to that office of his) that Quinn, for a moment, was shocked that she even remembered what color was! And indeed, by the way she looked and touched the dress on the mannequin standing before her, it seemed like she had!

"Alice . . .?" He called quietly and her gaze snapped onto his, her eyes wide and innocent, almost as if she was a child who had just been caught with her hand in the cookie jar.

"Q-Quinn, I . . .!" She trailed off, not knowing what to say, and a gentle smile appeared on his face.

"Do you like it?" He asked her, and Alice glanced back at the dress, still speechless, not knowing what to say – how to reply to such a question. Her eyes, though . . . her eyes were gazing at it longingly and he sighed indulgently. "Go ahead and get it, Alice. Consider it a Christmas present and it looks like it'd fit you!" He spoke and the look she gave him was one of clear shock.

"Quinn, I couldn't possibly . . . it's too expensive! I . . . I would never be able to repay you for it!" She spoke weakly and Quinn shook his head as he pushed himself off of the counter and moved over to her.

"Nonsense, Alice; it's not _that _expensive!" He assured her before thinking, _for the love of God, Johanna's bought worse_! "And besides, it's a Christmas present, so don't you even dare think of paying me back for it! And besides . . ." He shrugged. "You need a bit of color in your life again!"

Once again, the look Alice gave him was one of respect and adoration as tears came to her eyes and she threw her arms around him in a hug. Stunned, for a moment he didn't reciprocate the hug before, slowly, he found his arms winding around her back and bringing her closer to him. His nose buried in her hair and her scent of roses filled his nose for a moment.

"Oh _thank you, _Quinn,it's beautiful!" She spoke excitingly. He nodded as they broke apart, Quinn trying desperately to show her that it was just a small thing when really, he was rejoicing inside that she had actually hugged him for once!

They returned to the tailor, who was smiling a small smile and nodded. "Do you want the dress too, Miss. Alice?" He asked and Alice still beaming, allowed Quinn to nod his head.

"Yes, put the dress down too . . ." He sighed good-naturedly, and the tailor continued to smile as he moved over to the cash register. He began totaling up the amount as an older woman came out of the back room and moved over to the mannequin. She gently pulled off the dress, wrapped it in brown paper and tied with twine before handing it to Alice, a kind smile on her face. Alice took it from her reverently, almost as if she was being handed a holy relic and glanced up at Quinn before she hugged it to her chest.

"Thank you . . ." She murmured, and the old woman smiled and nodded in welcome as she moved behind the counter and disappeared back into the back room. William, meanwhile, had finished totaling up the amount and after Quinn winced inside from the sheer amount of it, paid the man and they left, entering the cold outside world seconds later, the package still held close to Alice's chest. They turned onto the street that led to the market and Alice glanced up at Quinn again.

"Oh Quinn, _thank you_ so much!" She thanked him again and, laughing, Quinn grinned and rolled his eyes.

"Alice, _you are welcome_! Now I don't want to hear another 'thank you' come from your lips again, do I make myself clear?" He asked her good-naturedly and she nodded as they continued on their way, Alice reverting back to her normal self the closer they got to the market.

When they finally reached the market moments later, Alice had reverted back to her completely normal self, flitting here and there through the stalls to place orders and to inquire on whether or not they had the correct thing in stock. The package was constantly at her side, held in an iron-like grip and Quinn grinned and shook his head in amusement as he watched her.

When they were done, she returned to him, an expressionless look on her face but her eyes still glowing with happiness. They made their way back to the orphanage, Elizabeth skipping in front of them as they went. She too was happy at the prospect of getting a whole new 'blue' winter wardrobe and Quinn had to admit, her happiness was infectious, to the point where he wrapped an arm around Alice's shoulders and brought her closer to him. Blush burning on her cheeks, she allowed him to, her hand moving to settle on his chest.

He was still cold though.

"Today was a good day, don't you think? I think we made Elizabeth's rare outing pretty memorable too, if I do say so myself!" Quinn asked brightly as they neared the home, and Alice opened her mouth to say something but was abruptly cut off when a snowball landed squarely in the back of Quinn's head. With a surprised 'oof', his head was thrown forward and he felt the immediately uncomfortable sensation of being icy cold as the snowball quickly melted in his hair and slid in rivulets down the back of his neck to disappear within his clothing. The both of the whirled around, only to find Elizabeth and two other children standing behind them, giggling, with snowballs already remade in their gloved hands. Alice laughed as Quinn, still thunderstruck, let out a violent shiver.

"What the devil -!"

"Oh Quinn . . .!" Alice laughed as she placed another hand on his chest. "Have you never had a snowball fight before?" She asked. Quinn nodded and shrugged half-heartedly.

"Well, yeah . . . kinda . . . not really . . ." He admitted and Alice tsked disapprovingly as she gazed at the children. The look he gave her was one of disbelief. "Alice, I grew up in Louisiana! They have no idea what snow is there, let alone what it looks _and_ feels like!" Alice shook her head.

"That's no excuse I'm afraid! Children – you know what to do!" She spoke and giggling, snowballs seemed to come from everywhere, pelting everything in close proximity in powdery white snow. Childish screams of delight split the air as they were hit with snowballs and threw them back in return, and there, amidst it all and laughing, Alice was throwing them back. The package was still in her hands, and eventually, Quinn was in the snowball fight as well, laughing and having just as much fun as Alice and the children were.

He bent down and hurriedly packed another snowball, ducking the recent one thrown by Alice and she let out a shriek of delight as, grinning, he got to his feet and moved quickly over to her. Snowball in his hand, he wrapped an arm around her waist, bringing her closer to him. Grinning and laughing, she tried to push him away but only ended up shrieking in even more girlish delight as Quinn mashed the snowball into her hair, the same that had happened with him in the beginning.

"Oh God, Quinn, you are such a _bastard_!" Alice couldn't help but laugh with a grin on her face, and Quinn found himself laughing just as hard as the hand that wasn't holding onto the package, moved up to grasp one of his shoulders. He never remembered ever having this much fun before and it didn't end, especially when he realized that Alice's lips were being pressed against his own.

It took him a moment to realize what had just happened, and right when he did, Alice was already slowly backing away from him, an uneasy look in her eyes as she regarded him. "Quinn . . .?" She asked uneasily, but only gasped when he leaned back in and replied by reattaching his lips to hers. She immediately opened her mouth to him and started kissing him back, her hand sliding upwards into his hair as her lips molded so deliciously to his. His tongue slid into her mouth to tangle with hers, and his hands grasped her waist, pulling her closer to him as they kissed with the passion and veracity of two people who had clearly wanted to do it long before then.

When they broke apart, it was not because of the cold that they were breathing hard. They had seemed to steal each other's breaths away and the eyes he regarded her with eyes that were almost black and clouded with an emotion that both excited her and slightly unnerved her. However, her emerald green eyes held the same emotion and when her lips formed his name, it reached his ears, not in her angelic, breathless voice, but as someone's else's screeching tone that he was infinitely familiar with.

"_Tarquinn Reeves_!"

Quinn snapped his eyes onto the woman standing in front of the orphanage, a horrified look in her blue eyes, her blonde shining in the sun and Quinn's eyes widened in horror too.

"Johanna!?"


	5. Chapter 5

**Hey, yeah, I'm sorry I haven't posted in a while but this chapter was pretty difficult for me to write, ideas and content wise and even then, it didn't come out exactly how I would have preferred it to come out, but its good, nonetheless, I think. **

**And always, please review! They help loads and I love them to death! :)**

**Enjoy!****  
**

**Nagiana!**

**PS - Sorry if I wrote Priss a little OOC or entirely unlike her character at all, but she was one of the ones that made this chapter so difficult for me to write. I knew I wanted her in this chapter, I just had a hard time writing her. Again, apologies, but if she's any further chapters (which I doubt, because she was so hard to write) I'll try and remedy it.**

* * *

"I swear to God, Johanna -!"

"Don't you say it, Quinn – don't you _dare_ say it!" Johanna interrupted him furiously, her face red and stormy with anger. He knew better than to argue with her at that moment, when she was that angry. "I come to – what for all intents and purposes can be considered our home now – only to find you lip-locked with some _harlot_ -!"

"You would do best to shut your mouth, wife, for Alice is no harlot!" Quinn interrupted her furiously; his face and tone becoming as angry as hers as he rose quickly to his feet. Her eyes widened slightly at the sight.

"She is . . . she is one of your patients, then?" She asked, her voice sounding faint and Quinn realized that if he didn't quickly diffuse the situation, then he would have a fainted, as well as angry wife on his hands. He shook his head.

"Alice is not a patient in the traditional sense of the word. Yes, I give her some sessions, but she is also my assistant _and_ the housekeeper!" His shook his head and allowed a light laugh to escape past his lips as he held out his hands. "She means nothing to me, I swear, Johanna!"

The teary look that Johanna pinned on him put him ill at ease. Her fingers flew to the carved cameo hanging around her neck in a lace choker, hanging just a little bit above the horseshoe indentation of her collarbone, and he saw her swallow hard. "Do you _promise _me that she means nothing to you?" She asked him, her voice barely coming out in a whisper. She shook her head. "Do not become a Jung, Quinn - _please_!" She shook her head, tears filling her eyes again. "Poor Emma is the laughingstock of Europe's psychiatric families - please do not push me down onto her level!"

Quinn rolled his eyes as he moved over to her, grasping her shoulders in a gentle grasp. "Johanna, I promise you that there is nothing between me and Alice!" He assured her gently. "You are my wife and I love you! I love you and I love our daughter! No one will ever be able to come between that!"

"Then what was with that kiss?" She asked, her tears drying up although her eyes remained wet. Quinn shrugged.

"Alice kissed me. I didn't want to kiss back and I didn't! It just . . ." He shrugged. "It just _happened_!" Johanna nodded, a look of relief appearing on her face although a slight look of skepticism appeared in her eyes nonetheless.

"I'm sorry . . . I should have realized that – I never should have overreacted!" She apologized with a light laugh as she wiped the tears away from her eyes with a lace handkerchief that she withdrew from one of the hidden pockets on her dress. Quinn smiled lovingly and opened his mouth to say something but there was a knock on his office door. After calling for the person to enter, the door opened, revealing one of the orphans standing on the threshold. Quinn nodded and smiled.

"Yes what do you need, Thomas?"

"Sir, there is a, uh . . ." He shifted nervously for a moment. "Well, there is an acquaintance of Miss. Alice waiting downstairs. She said that she needs to talk to you and that it would be in your best interest to see her!" Quinn nodded, his eyebrows furrowing in slight confusion as he stepped away from Johanna.

"Uh . . . yes, I think I have some free time – send her up, will you Thomas?" Thomas nodded as he withdrew from his office, closing the door behind him. Quinn turned back to Johanna and smiled a small, comforting smile as he cupped her cheek. "Are we okay?" Johanna laughed and nodded as she turned a loving gaze up to him.

"Yes, I think we are. It was just a simple misunderstanding!" Quinn nodded as he bent down and pressed a gentle kiss to the corner of her mouth. Her hands grasped his shoulders as his lips trailed down to the underside of his jaw. At least with Johanna here he could maybe keep his mind off of all the things he would like to do with – and to – Alice. "What is there that needs doing around here?" She asked, and Quinn groaned as he reluctantly parted from her, Johanna allowing a grin to appear on her face at his sound of protest.

"A lot, unfortunately. Alice has been helping me get all of Bumby's files in order but I haven't so much as touched any nook or cranny of the apartment yet – I thought you and Lucy might want to handle that," She nodded and he shrugged. "I don't know about the state of the kitchens although if it was too bad, Alice surely would have told me. Other than that, the house seems to be in pretty good order -!"

He was abruptly interrupted by another knock on his door. When the door opened seconds later, revealing a hunched over, impossibly old woman on the threshold, Quinn's immediate look of shock and confusion on his face made Johanna grin and laugh. She placed a loving hand on his chest.

"I'll get started on the apartment. You worry about your next appointment!" She told him and Quinn smiled thankfully and nodded as Johanna left them then, allowing him to turn his full attention onto the old woman who had so recently entered his office. He introduced himself and held his hand out to her but ended up having to fight himself not to recoil from her. The old woman reeked of gin and other alcoholic beverages.

Finally, and with a slightly imperious sniff, she took his hand and shook it. "The name is Priss Witless; nice to meet you." She spoke and Quinn gestured to a nearby chair, one that she gladly took.

"So, Mrs. Witless, what can I do for you this evening?" He asked, and Pris gave another imperious sniff.

"I and young Alice have a deal going on – I won't bore you with details, for you are surely too busy to care! It has come time for her to deliver her monthly money and she has refused. I would like for you to talk to her." She spoke and Quinn gave a laugh and a grin.

"Mrs. Witless, with all due respect, I don't really care about any dealings that you have going on with Alice – that is business between you and her! However, I do believe that this _is_ something that you should be taking up with her! I'm sure that she is around here somewhere, in fact -!"

"No, you do not understand, Doctor Reeves!" Priss interrupted him with a startling amount of anger in her voice, and Quinn turned a wide-eyed stare of shock onto her. "Without me, that girl would be peddling her backside on the street for a few dollars a night! At least it'd be enough for a belly-full of food!"

"Now, see here Mrs. Witless –!"

Priss ignored him and made herself more comfortable in her chair before continuing, her anger disappearing somewhat in favor of the imperious attitude she had, had earlier. "I mean, I deserve consideration, don't I? Who found her, her clothes when she first got out of Rutledge? Who got her a place at Bumby's? Where'd she be without me? She would be out on the street, peddling her backside!"

Quinn heaved an irritated, slightly impatient sigh, and moved to lean back against his desk, where he folded his arms in front of his chest. "Now, Mrs. Witless, Alice is almost like a daughter to you from what I understand from her case file! That is hardly the attitude that will help her get any better, don't you think?" Quinn told her gently, and Priss Witless scoffed and looked away as she answered him.

"You tell me that, boy, when you have no idea of whom you are talking to! Who fed her, clothed her, housed her and kept her secrets? Me, that's who, and it isn't ever gonna change! I'm the one that took in the little bitch, I should have a damn good say so in her life, I think! Besides . . ." Priss fluffed herself up again. "With her pretty face and shapely figure, she could fetch quite a pretty penny!"

Quinn felt his irritation towards the old woman grow with each passing second he found himself in her company and with each word that fell unwelcomingly from her thin, chapped lips. "Now Ms. Witless, as Alice's psychiatrist, I must stress to you the importance -!"

She adopted a look of alarm on her face. "The importance of what? Oh, what nonsense Dr. Reeves! You're a man, and you want what every man that gazes at her wants! You want her in your bed, don't you? You want to feel her writhing underneath you, moaning your name, her body wrapped around you like a little harlot, don't you? You may deny it vehemently but I can see it in your eyes, Dr. Reeves, just like I saw it in Bumby's!" Quinn's eyebrows immediately furrowed in shock and he opened his mouth to say something, but Priss interrupted him with a shrieking laugh and a dismissive wave of her hand. Bumby had . . . no, no it couldn't be! Alice would have told him . . . wouldn't she?

"Of course, I don't blame you! You are a handsome young man and a very successful psychiatrist for your age - or so I've heard – and Alice is quite the little tart! I would have to question you if you did not feel some kind of stirrings for her!"

Of course, everything that Priss Witless had said was completely and irrevocably true. Alice was such an innocent, misguided young woman, albeit a very pretty one and Quinn could hardly deny the emotions he felt for her. Of course, every single one of those emotions conflicted horribly with the oaths he took in order to become a doctor, for no doctor in their right mind (outside of Jung, of course) and who cared for their reputation and practice, would dare to know a patient intimately, not even in their safest of dreams. Neither could he live with knowing that he had broken his wedding vows with his wife.

And besides . . . the mere _thought_ that Bumby had laid a hand on her, both deeply disturbed him and deeply angered him. He made a mental note to ask Alice that later – gently!

Quinn smiled a tight smile. "Mrs. Witless, I am a doctor - a psychiatrist! It is against the law for me to know any one of my patients intimately, and I am sorry to say that those thoughts are very far from my mind!" He told her firmly. "And besides, I have a wife! You saw her when you first entered!" Priss nodded as Quinn moved to stand behind his desk. He started arranging the paperwork on his desk in order to keep himself from looking at her, and Priss turned a gaze onto him.

"Yes, I just remembered that . . . Johanna is her name, I think Alice has mentioned . . .?" Quinn glanced at her pointedly before he nodded again.

"You are correct." Priss nodded again.

"Pretty little thing. A bit on the waify side, but she has the most beautiful cornsilk blonde hair! And she seems so polite, too! Tell me, do you and Mrs. Reeves have any children, Dr. Reeves?" Quinn paused in his arranging quest for a moment before he returned to what he was doing.

"Yes, we have a young daughter, but that it is. God has just . . . seen fit to have not have blessed us with any more children, no matter how hard we pray during Mass and no matter how hard we try, it seems."

"Oh, that is nonsense! Both of you are still young and nubile! I'm sure you will have a child sooner or later! Do not give up hope!" Quinn now stopped what he was doing and gazed at Priss Witless suspiciously.

"For a woman who was just toying around with the idea of making a young woman a prostitute, you sure are full of child talk now!" He spoke slowly, and Priss chucked and looked down at her hands.

"Forgive me, Dr. Reeves, but I much prefer other people's children to the ones I think of as my own! I am the same way with others, and they all turn out perfectly fine, so you cannot possibly begin to tell me that, that is why Alice is a lunatic!" Quinn sighed.

"I did not call Alice a lunatic, Ms. Witless! Alice is not a lunatic - depressed maybe - but not crazy. I blame the hallucinations on that crackpot asylum she had been in for the past ten years and then the even sicker Doctor Bumby! It is well known that in Rutledge's the patients not only earn their hallucinations, but pay for them as well! I would bet my money on the fact that Alice has seen horrors in that place that neither you nor I can possibly begin to fathom! And we all know what Bumby's motives were . . ." He gazed at her keenly for a moment and Priss returned his gaze with a steady, expressionless one of her own.

"I believe that my welcome is starting to wear out, Doctor Reeves, but know this before I leave: there is much that Alice has not told you – much that I doubt she ever will!" She shook her head. "Do not think that you cannot trust her! You would be very foolish indeed!"

Priss got to her feet then, right when the door to his office swung open, revealing a beaming Alice. The beam immediately slipped from her face, however, when she saw Priss standing there in the office with Quinn. Her gaze slipped back and forth from Priss to Quinn and when she stepped into the office, it was towards Quinn, her body trembling ever-so-slightly. Quinn furrowed his eyebrows in slight interest and confusion at the sight.

"What are you doing here?" She asked, her question directed towards Priss, and the old woman smiled kindly, a smile that Quinn could clearly see was a ruse – a ruse expertly made to deceive fragile minds like Alice's.

"Since you have ended our deal, I have brought the situation to the attention of Doctor Reeves!" She spoke and when Alice turned a slightly accusing eye onto Quinn, he sighed and pressed his mouth in a thin line as he gazed pointedly at Priss.

"It is true, she brought to me the fact that you two had a deal of some sort going on, but that was about it. I do not the background of the deal, nor why you ended it. I told her that it was between you two and not to drag me into it!" His voice was more irritated than he had originally wanted it to sound, but when a look of relief appeared on Alice's face, he knew it didn't offend her. In fact, it was Priss who looked angry.

"Good, Quinn, I would not have wanted to drag you into anything that did not concern you, especially taking into consideration that your wife and child are now here!" She spoke, glancing at him, and Quinn averted his eyes back down onto the face of his desk as Alice turned her gaze back onto Priss. "I think you have worn out your welcome, Priss . . ." She spoke, and Priss's mouth was in a hard line as she yanked her shawls closer around her.

"Oh, don't worry, I was just leaving!" She snapped before she focused her eyes onto Quinn standing behind his desk and Alice. "And you remember what I told you, Doctor Reeves! Do not prove me correct!"

"What did she mean by that, Quinn?" Alice asked in interest as she turned around to face Quinn, and he sighed and rubbed his face tiredly with his hands. Everything had started out so wonderfully this morning and was now growing worse and worse as the day ended! Oh why couldn't the day have ended with the kiss he had shared with Alice?

"I have to ask you a question, Alice, and I want an answer . . ." Quinn spoke, forcing himself to keep his voice calm as he brought his face out of his hands, and Alice nodded, although she gazed at him with those wide, deer-caught-in-the-headlights look that she had first carried when she had entered his office that first day he had arrived. "Did . . . did Bumby ever . . . did he ever act untoward towards you?"

"How do you mean?"

Quinn sighed as he held her gaze as he swallowed hard. "Did he _ever touch you_?" His voice came out in a ragged whisper, his eyes hard and cold, yet filled with alarmed a the prospect that it could be true – his voice, a tone that he had not meant to take, and immediately, Alice swallowed and shook her head.

"Quinn, I don't know -!"

"Alice, for the _love_ of God, please answer the question for once and _don't_ beat around the bush or push it aside!" He interrupted her, his voice coming out angry and loud as his fist pounded down against the top of the desk. Alice jumped at the harsh tone and her eyes welled up with tears as she gazed across the room at him. Her hands were clasped tightly in front of her chest and when he saw the fear pounding away in her wide green eyes like a cornered, frightened rabbit, it took a moment for him to realize that, that same fear, also pounded away in his heart too. It was a different kind of fear, thought. _His_ fear, was the fear that she would say 'yes', that Bumby _had _touched her in the way that Quinn wanted oh so much to touch her and he was _so afraid_ – so afraid that, that would cause her to walk away from him – to push him away and withdraw further into herself to avoid any judgment he might make on her at the knowledge.

He didn't think he could stand for that to happen, but also . . . he was also afraid that she _would_ say yes . . .

She continued to gaze at him for a moment before finally, in an impossibly small, childlike voice, uttered that damnable word, "Yes."

For the first time in a long time, Quinn felt his heart break in his chest. He bowed his head and forced himself to keep back the tears welling up in his eyes, and when he bit down harshly on his bottom lip, he realized that he still tasted her on his lips . . . a taste that reminded him faintly of butterscotch – of every happy childhood memory that he had ever possessed . . .

"Quinn . . .?"

Her voice, still small and childlike, floated over to him from her spot on the other side of his desk, and he shook his head. He didn't know how to react – he was numb to it all. Poor, sweet Alice . . . she, who had suffered through every moment of her young life . . . that bastard – that sick, sick bastard!

He opened his eyes then when he was sure he could without releasing a veritable flood of tears, the flat surface of his desk coming into view as he did so, and almost immediately, he recoiled from the polished mahogany surface in disgust. Had nowhere been sacred to the perverse Bumby? Had his exploits with her began and ended in the bedroom or had he had her in every position on every available surface in his office and apartments? He gazed down at the desk in disgust and found that, for once . . . he didn't want to know.

"If he wasn't dead, I'd kill him myself!" Quinn found himself speaking before he could stop himself, and he heard Alice gasp.

"Quinn -!"

"I would, Alice, don't you dare doubt me right now, especially after I lied to my wife about us!" Her eyes grew impossibly wider then and he licked his lips, allowing yet another flood of her taste to enter his mouth. He shook his head. "I told you that you were just my housekeeper and my assistant – that you were the one who kissed me – that you meant _nothing _to me!" He shook his head then. "I wish to every Hell in the book that you didn't, but you do! And just the _thought _that, that psychopath touched you in that way . . . I don't know how to react for once!" He glanced up at her and when he saw her swallow hard, his eyes softened slightly and he averted them to the floor. "I'm sorry Alice . . . but I think I need to be left alone right now . . ."

Alice nodded and took a step forward but forced herself to stop. He saw that she wanted to rush to him – that she wanted to run into his arms and kiss the pain and the worries away, but that she shouldn't. That day had been a very hectic, very spontaneous day for him, and he didn't need any more surprises, let alone from her!

"Will you need me tomorrow, Quinn?" She asked, and Quinn's voice came out unnecessarily harsh when he answered her,

"I'll need you when I send for you."

* * *

When Johanna found her husband later that night – much later that night, in fact – she found him hunched over his desk with a bottle of half-empty scotch sitting beside him. Her face softened as she darted over to him. "Quinn, honey, I think it is time for bed!" Her gentle voice came to him as she gently took his hand but he mumbled something and threw her away from him. She could sense the amount of pain he was in and her heart went out to him, however, she also knew that he needed sleep more than he needed a bottle of scotch.

"Quinn, honey, you need to go to sleep! Tomorrow will be better, I promise!"

When he didn't answer her, just remained hunched over his desk, she sighed and kneeled down beside him, her hand moving to lie on his thigh. His black hair hung down in his eyes but she knew he could see her – that he _was _watching her. "Quinn, I won't pretend to know what almost killed you this afternoon – what drove you to seek redemption and comfort in a bottle when you have me, your wife, but those children downstairs sleeping in their beds, _need_ you! They need you to be strong – to help them get better!"

"They'd be better off without me!" Quinn's slurred voice came in response, and Johanna heaved a sigh as she got to her feet, pulling him to his as she did so. He didn't protest this time, but he did release a sling of mumbled, slurred curse words that Johanna felt very grateful she couldn't understand at that moment. "I'm a quack – a fraud!" He slurred as she helped him through the door to their apartments and she pretended not to listen to his drunken words, but she was. "I should be able to read people – to infer from their files what is wrong with them – what caused them to lapse into . . . into mental . . ." He trailed off then, his drunken mind too feeble to come up with the appropriate words but he continued on when he felt he was able. "I should have realized . . . I should have realized that Alice . . ." Johanna's ears perked up at Alice's name but his words ended there. They had reached the bedroom by then and Quinn stumbled out of her grasp, only to stumble onto the bed moments later. He hit the bed, snores coming from his still person seconds later and it took Johanna a moment to realize that, that would be the last time Quinn would ever speak of Alice in that way to her again.


End file.
